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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24045946">Examination</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaceloveandjocularity/pseuds/peaceloveandjocularity'>peaceloveandjocularity</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity'>stateofintegrity</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>MASH (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:42:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,689</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24045946</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaceloveandjocularity/pseuds/peaceloveandjocularity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no excuse for this. Just PWP.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Examination</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Don’t squirm, Corporal.” He felt beneath his jaw and down his throat. “Any unusual swelling?”</p><p>“No.” (This wasn’t precisely true, but if Charles didn’t mention it and it kept his dignity in some sort of shape, Klinger wasn’t going to call attention to the ache between his legs).</p><p>“Your pulse is a bit rapid.”</p><p>
  <em> Yours would be, too, if you were in your underwear on an examination table at 9:00 at night with the one man in camp you’d like to invite back to your tent. </em>
</p><p>He motioned him up.</p><p>Klinger gave a despairing look. “Really, sir?”</p><p>“Wearing civilian underwear doesn’t get you by army procedure, Corporal, no matter how delicate the weave.”</p><p>So he endured the whole turn your head and cough routine, wondering, throughout, just when Charles was going to comment on the state he’d been unable to prevent himself from reaching.</p><p>But the physician carried on as if nothing was amiss, merely slipping out of his white coat because the evening was sultry.</p><p>As Klinger dressed, Charles supposed he ought to be grateful. His tentmates had handled the bulk of the physicals the army insisted on every three months; he was merely in charge of corralling those individuals who had slipped through the cracks.</p><p>Klinger was the last; it figured- the man could be slippery... and wriggly, it seemed. He pulled down the Corporal’s lower eyelids, looking for broken veins. The Corporal shied from his touch as he turned his arm over, closed his fingers on his pulse to see if it had slowed. It hadn’t. “Klinger, you’ve done this before, yes?”</p><p>“Every three months, sir.”</p><p>“Are you always this fabulously twitchy?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“I know you are a hyperactive little creature, but it’s more than that, isn’t it? Care to enlighten me?” He expected the man to divulge some version of white coat syndrome.</p><p>But Klinger just gawked at him. When he put the pieces together, Charles surprised him with a tolerant smile. “A nervous body has a host of responses. Do you honestly imagine you are unique in this?”</p><p>Klinger looked down, lashes resting on his cheeks. “It’s never happened with the other doctors, Major.”</p><p>The pen Winchester had been making notations with dropped to the floor. Charles turned to his patient. <em> Not just slippery... You, Maxwell Q. Klinger, are </em> <b> <em>reckless</em> </b>.</p><p>“Corporal, I am going to turn around for twenty seconds. I suggest you take yourself off of that table and back to where you belong.”</p><p>He was already facing away when Klinger spoke. “And if I don’t?”</p><p>Charles smiled. “We are going to discover, you and I, just how, ah, sturdy that table actually is.”</p><p>Klinger’s feet stayed away from the floor. When Charles turned back around, his belt was already undone and those open pants, the shadow of his desire just visible inside, made Klinger’s breath catch. His eyes darted to the coat hanging on the rack. Charles read his desire, slipped the symbol of his profession back on. It was an old game, the material for a host of jokes, but if it did the trick, who was he to complain?</p><p>“How are you feeling, Corporal?” He held a hand to his forehead. “You’re flushed.”</p><p>“I’ve been better, Dr. Winchester.”</p><p>Inexplicably, his title sounded better coming from Klinger’s mouth than it had at graduation, upon finishing residency, or even from his first patients.</p><p>“I think we can get you back on your feet.” Winchester was proud of himself; his voice sounded professional, unaffected by what was on offer. Inside he was delighted; Klinger had chosen one of the stalest fantasies in existence, perhaps, but his face - so supple, so helplessly open - revealed how excited he was to be under the doctor’s care.</p><p>“If you would undress?” The request made Klinger shiver and Winchester decided to alter the script. “Unless you’re feeling too shaky? Too dizzy?”</p><p>Klinger brought a hand to his forehead. He wasn’t dizzy, but he’d never been so turned on.</p><p>“It’s alright.” He put a hand on the man’s back, supporting him while his other hand started on his shirt.</p><p>Klinger absolutely didn’t mean to, but he whimpered when Charles made it to his waistline.</p><p>“Shhh, shhh,” said the clinician. “Calmly now, Corporal. Show me where it hurts.”</p><p>Klinger shot him so overcome a look at that that Charles would have laughed but didn’t want to break character. <em> Your fantasy, my sweet </em> , he thought. <em> Don’t blame me for having had occasion to read from the script. </em></p><p>He certainly hadn’t imagined his night going this way, but having Klinger shudder under his touch as he revealed his slim hips was a welcome change of plans. Several lines of lacy ruffles decorated the less traditional (and definitely not army issue) part of Klinger’s outfit and Charles fought back a smile. Clinical Charles couldn’t comment of course, but he took his time, memorized the way the fancy fabric caught as his fingers, the contrast between white lace and dark curls.</p><p>“I see the problem,” he said when the Corporal was bared and laid out before him. His eyes flicked up and found Klinger’s. “This has happened before?”</p><p>Klinger had to swallow in order to speak. “Yeah, but not like this.”</p><p>Opening a drawer, Charles found what he wanted. He shed his gloves. He heard Klinger swallow again. His dark eyes were riveted on Winchester’s fingers as he worked ointment into them, leaving them glistening.</p><p>“Don’t be nervous, Corporal. This is a perfectly routine procedure.”</p><p>Klinger surrendered himself into his touch with a sigh that was practically relieved.</p><p><em> Either you have anticipated this so much that you are so utterly keyed up you can scarcely think</em>, Charles reflected, mapping the best way to hold him, to stroke him, <em> or there is something interesting here in the effect of my touch on your skin </em>.</p><p>His free hand splayed over his belly, held him in place. “Don’t strain. It may, ah, take a moment, but you should begin to experience some relief quite quickly.”</p><p>Klinger’s head was thrown back, the muscles pulled taut in his throat.</p><p><em> Or you may make your caretaker momentarily lose consciousness at the sight of you, spread out and straining after my touch. My God, Maxwell, you should have spoken. But if you had, I might not have had this.. </em>.</p><p>Klinger’s hips and shoulders moved against the table. His breathing was punctuated with little bursts of “ah, ah, ah” and those sweet, small sounds seemed to reverse the flow of blood in Charles’ body; he was aching now, too, contracting the very thing he sought to remedy.</p><p>“There you are, that’s it. Just a little longer. Just a little more.” Nonsense words, but he delivered them in the right tone, his refined voice and feigned detachment going straight to the Corporal’s weeping cock.</p><p>Charles knew he could trigger the end of Klinger’s “suffering” with just a few touches. Instead, he slowed, made the Corporal’s eyes snap open in anguish at losing the feel of him. “You’re alright, Corporal. Did I neglect to tell you that this is a multi-step procedure?”</p><p>Then his fingers were inside - long, clever, knowing just how to open him, just where to brush to trigger a faint pulse of pleasure that was a promise of future sensation. It was necessary prep work, but Charles would have bypassed it if he could have. Klinger needed release; he needed <em> Klinger</em>.</p><p>
  <em> I haven’t even tasted your mouth... you are ruining me... </em>
</p><p>As thoroughly as he believed he’d readied the man beneath him, Charles was nervous when the moment came. He’d always seen something delicate in Klinger. “Tell me if this hurts,” he said and he was barely holding the mask of being a physician up to his face now; his voice was as shaky as the rest of him. Klinger heard him crack. When he sank into him - just a little at first - he got to hear him moan.</p><p>Charles stayed still for as long as he could stand to do so, letting Klinger adjust to the feel of him. “How are you holding up, Corporal?”</p><p>Klinger formed a circle with his thumb and finger, flashing him an okay sign. Charles was a Winchester. Okay might have done for a lesser person, but he was after more. Taking up where he’d left off, he shifted inside of the man, aimed for the place his fingers had so easily found.</p><p><em> Ah. </em> <b> <em>There.</em> </b></p><p>He thrust against that sweet spot, drowning in the tight heat surrounding him, but he didn’t leave Klinger hanging just because he’d joined the game. He took the Corporal in hand again. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he crooned, seeking to ease him. “Trust me. Let me help you.”</p><p>Klinger might have been able to hold out against his voice, or his fingers, or the way he felt inside him. He couldn’t resist all three. He screamed. His breathing came out in pants as he came back down. “Charles…” </p><p>The taller man wondered that something so small as his name could move him so much; Klinger speaking it felt more intimate than the way they were joined. Klinger must have seen something in his eyes. </p><p>“Charles?”</p><p>
  <em> Yes. Please. Once more. Again.  </em>
</p><p>Better than a lover who would gamble everything to play with him was a lover who left off the moment he needed more than a game. </p><p>“Charles…” It was a sweet cry, a way to pull him near and give him permission at once. </p><p>And when the conclusion came and he slumped down across the Corporal’s body, Klinger chuckled. </p><p>“What is it, darling?”</p><p>“The table held up.”</p><p>“So it did.” <em> Though God knows how I can possibly examine anyone else on it without seeing you </em>. </p><p>Charles knew he couldn’t return to the detached persona he’d played, but he recovered enough to doff his white coat and use it to clean up the man he’d made his own. The success of the venture was such that Klinger didn’t protest when he dressed him; he was too dazed. </p><p>When Charles tucked something into his pocket, he gave a questioning little look, though. “What’s this, Major?”</p><p>“Your follow up appointment, of course.”</p><p>End! </p>
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